The House that doesn’t hold me

We all grew up with a phrase that connects shelter to life. In Greece, we say: "To have a roof over my head." In Belgium: “Een baksteen in de maag” — a brick in the stomach.

Not from stress. From desire. An inner voice to build, to belong, to say: here.

But times are changing.

Younger people don’t say “I want a house.” They say: — “I don’t want to work just to pay a loan.” — “I’m paying to stay, not to live.”

They’re not against shelter. They’re against the burden of it.

Maybe the issue isn’t the property. Maybe it’s how we carry the idea of “home”: with words that no longer belong to us.

— “Don’t throw money on rent.” — “Leave something for the children.”

But what does "to leave behind" really mean? And what does it mean "to belong"?

What if you closed your eyes... How would you truly want your shelter to be?

— A suitcase in the hallway.

— An idea for Airbnb.

— A stone house that becomes a retreat.

— A small shop that turns into a studio.

— Or just something temporary — that gives you space.

A space without a label — but full of potential.

And what if it’s not too late to renegotiate what “home” means? Not to start over, but to start from yourself.

Maybe we don’t need more “opportunities”. Maybe we need new imagination.

If your idea of “home” shifts, so does the market you’re looking at.

Because home is not the property. It’s the space where you can exist.

“A man is rich in proportion to the things he can afford to let alone.” — Henry David Thoreau

You? What do you truly ask from a property? To give you shelter — or to give you support?